A few years ago, my mom developed rheumatoid arthritis. Her wrists, knees and toes swelled up,causing crippling, chronic pain. She had to file for disability. She stopped attending our local mosque. Some mornings it was too painfulfor her to brush her teeth. I wanted to help. But I didn't know how. I'm not a doctor.

So, what I am is a historian of medicine. So I started to researchthe history of chronic pain. Turns out, UCLA has an entirehistory of pain collection in their archives. And I found a story — a fantastic story — of a man who saved — rescued — millions of people from pain; people like my mom. Yet, I had never heard of him. There were no biographiesof him, no Hollywood movies. His name was John J. Bonica. But when our story begins, he was better known asJohnny "Bull" Walker.

It was a summer day in 1941. The circus had just arrivedin the tiny town of Brookfield, New York. Spectators flocked to seethe wire-walkers, the tramp clowns — if they were lucky, the human cannonball. They also came to see the strongman,Johnny "Bull" Walker, a brawny bully who'd pin you for a dollar. You know, on that particular day,a voice rang out over the circus P.A. system. They needed a doctor urgently,in the live animal tent. Something had gone wrongwith the lion tamer. The climax of his act had gone wrong, and his head was stuckinside the lion's mouth. He was running out of air; the crowd watched in horror as he struggled and then passed out. When the lion finally did relax its jaws, the lion tamer just slumpedto the ground, motionless. When he came to a few minutes later, he saw a familiar figure hunched over him. It was Bull Walker. The strongman had given the lion tamermouth-to-mouth, and saved his life.

Now, the strongman hadn't told anyone, but he was actuallya third-year medical student. He toured with the circusduring summers to pay tuition, but kept it a secretto protect his persona. He was supposed to bea brute, a villain — not a nerdy do-gooder. His medical colleagues didn'tknow his secret, either. As he put it, "If you werean athlete, you were a dumb dodo." So he didn't tell them about the circus, or about how he wrestled professionallyon evenings and weekends. He used a pseudonym like Bull Walker, or later, the Masked Marvel. He even kept it a secret that same year, when he was crownedthe Light Heavyweight Champion of the world.

Over the years, John J. Bonicalived these parallel lives. He was a wrestler; he was a doctor. He was a heel; he was a hero. He inflicted pain, and he treated it. And he didn’t know it at the time,but over the next five decades, he'd draw on these dueling identities to forge a whole new wayto think about pain. It'd change modern medicineso much so, that decades later, Time magazine would call himpain relief's founding father. But that all happened later.

In 1942, Bonica graduatedmedical school and married Emma, his sweetheart, whom he had metat one of his matches years before. He still wrestled in secret — he had to. His internship at New York'sSt. Vincent's Hospital paid nothing. With his championship belt,he wrestled in big-ticket venues, like Madison Square Garden, against big-time opponents, like Everett "The Blonde Bear" Marshall, or three-time world champion,Angelo Savoldi.

The matches took a toll on his body; he tore hip joints, fractured ribs. One night, The Terrible Turk's big toescratched a scar like Capone's down the side of his face.